The last thing he expected, unmasked in this area far from the Narrows but so similar, was to be recognized, let alone beckoned closer by a muffled voice in a heap of leaves.
Before he can decide whether to just gas them and be done with it, the pile shakes, and a torso wriggles into clarity – a torso in familiar red and black, followed closely by a head that shakes free of leaves as he stills.
"Fancy seein' you here, professah," she says, voice a pleasant hum. She pats the pile beside her – or at least, he thinks she does, as much of her is still hidden by leaves – and invites, "come and sit?"
Keeping the harlequin's company could be dangerous. Her beloved, sadistic clown jumps between perceiving such closeness as amusing chivalry, or as seeing it as a move on his moll.
But his latest heists have been splashed over front pages for a week straight, which usually put the clown in a better mood – one where he is less likely to reach with maiming.
And this besides, refusing the grinning girl generally proved to be an unwise move.
So he follows this with no small amount of caution, gingerly sitting as he wonders at how often a simple afternoon is turned into this.
He still sinks a good foot into the pile.
Surprisingly, Harley stays quiet long enough to discern the pattern of her breathing; when she breaks the silence, he is not opposed to it. "Ain't it lovely?"
A glance shows her eyes to be closed, so, grudgingly, he prompts, "what is, child?"
A hand emerges from brittle red and brown, fingers spread and gesturing. "All a' this. Sittin'. Waitin'. Enjoyin' the moment."
An interesting sentiment, from her.
"You are most often… on the move," he begins slowly. "You do not often have the time to pause?" He knows she cannot. Quick to make herself known and eager to join her beloved once caught, her visits to Arkham cemented the rumors of its revolving door policy.
"Mistah J's not so fond a' quiet, so there's not much time for it," she laments, linking her arms behind her head, "and it's aaaaalways busy." She kicks her legs out, and leaves scatter out. "But this is… nice. A little lull in the plans is –"
An explosion shatters the tranquility of the scene.
Glass shatters out from one of the brick buildings lining the street up ahead, rocketing out from the force and littering the pavement with glittering shards.
He is aware of Harley sitting up beside him, staring up the street. "Oooooops. That's my cue." She rises, pulling on her jester hat with practiced ease and breaking into a run. "Seeya professah! It was nice talkin' with ya!" she calls out along the way.
And she launches into a series of acrobatic leaps, disappearing into the building now engulfed in orange flames.
...well. On the bright side, he would have been much closer to the building had he not paused.
[A/N: This one's… better? And has actual semi-conversation? I've gotta work on that.
Next word: Intelligence]